Cutting it Close
by rhythmeticVagabond
Summary: Mitt Romney is a politician who finds his heart in a place he never thought it would be, between the blades of Koujaku's scissors. He finds himself at war with his emotions as love and fear overtake his being, half from his soon-to-be affair with his barber and half with the conspiracy linked to his being an American politician in the high-security island that is Midorijima.
1. Chapter 1

The campaigning period was done, and one certain politician had lost the race. It had been a close call, but in the end, Obama won again. To let off some steam and relax from all the campaigning work, our politician was on his way to an island he'd been told was a sort of "resort-esque city".

Honestly, thought? He wouldn't go so far as to call it that.

Mitt Romney had been in Midorijima for about two weeks now, and in that time period he had concluded that the locals of the island city were definately weirder than Americans. They were all obsessed with these things called Rhyme and Rib, and consequently there were gangs with weird symbols on every street corner. Hell, he even got jumped one time. There goes the bulk of his remaining wealth he'd been carrying on him for some odd reason.

The locals also dressed much weirder than Americans. In America, you can expect to see people in tanktops and booty shorts - the men and women. But on Midorijima, everyone was much more expressive and colorful, like that one nice young man who helps run that pawn shop down the road from Mitt's hotel. That marshmallow jacket definately hid his slim figure, which was odd. You'd think someone with such a nice body would like to show the world.

One more reason Midorijima was different than America.

Regardless, it was enjoyable. The drastic change in atmosphere had definately come as a surprise to the republican, but it was pleasing after the first day or two. He did notice, however, he was starting to become more and more exhausted from the heat. Perhaps, he thought, it was time he check the local listings to find a good barber shop (or whatever they called them on this island.)

Sipping his tea in his hotel room and leaning back on the chair accompanied with the desk given to him by the hotel, presumably for a laptop or workspace of sorts, his soft eyes scanned over his tablet as he read the local hair cuttery ads. This was proving to be a much more daunting task than he had wished for, however, what with every listing either located across the city or in that confusing area of the island called Platinum Jail that they wouldn't even let a high class politician like himself into. And the places that _were _local had such low ratings he didn't believe the people running the place could even cut paper correctly.

Just as the grey-haired American was just about to give up hope and try again tomorrow, and just as he was standing to go to the mini island counter to pour himself another cup of tea, he happened to glance out the window.

Lo and behold, a young man was standing in the street, cutting a young woman's hair.

Perfect. Hopefully this man wasn't only skilled in cutting and styling women's hair. Hopefully he wasn't one of the people who had gotten a half star rating.

With an oddly excited skip in his usually stone cold step, and a slight shine in his eye, Mitt Romney slid his shoes on and grab the Yen equivelant of a twenty from his wallet before exiting his hotel room.

* * *

The crowd around the young man was larger than he had seen from his limited view high above the ground, he concluded as he neared the corner the hair cutting was taking place on. Mostly women, but some men, including himself, had crowded around the apparently skilled barber as he cut small chunks from a blonde's head. A few nearby women in tanktops squealed as the man said something he couldn't quite make out. Something about the girls, though, he concluded.

Romney felt his throat tighten as the man glanced up at him, a smile plastered on his face. Mitt felt as if the barber's gaze pierced through his soul in an almost endearing way. No... No what was he thinking. He was a man, as was Mitt himself. That truly couldn't be what was happening. He was a dashing young man, yes, but-

Before his train of thought could wander off on its own disturbed trail, however, the man's voice cut his internal fretting short.

"Ah, it seems we have a new client," he began, his silky voice flowing through the politician's ears, making his heart speed up just a tad. _No, Mitt_, he thought. _Keep your cool. You're just nervous. _"What are you here for, Sir? Enjoying the show? Or would you like to come forward and have a trim as well?"

Romney cleared his throat, if only to give him a second more to gather his thoughts. "I was wondering," he began, a voice crack breaking the professional air around him, causing him to pale a he continued to speak, "If you could maybe just... sort of take a bit off the top?"

"Sure thing!" the man replied, his grin widening just a tad at what Mitt suspected to be his now nervous appearance and air about him. "That's probably the easiest request I've gotten in a while," he concluded, sending a teasing glance at a woman to his side, who smirked and slapped the man's arm, muttering an "oh you", though it couldn't be heard in the crowd's mass sqeal of what romney made out to be something along the lines of "Koujaku you jerk", though it wasn't at all in a horrified tone.

Oh.

So his name was Koujaku, was it?

"So, are you going to come over?" the man - now known to be Koujaku - asked, motioning to the chair the previous client had gotten up from in the time between the barber's joke and the crowd's hysterics. With a somewhat hesitant step, Romney nodded, slowly stepping through the crowd of people that seemed to part like the Red Sea as he walked toward the chair.

As he walked, and as the crowd parted, he slowly saw more and more of the man. He had blueish-black hair, a few scars on his otherwise perfect face, and a traditional Japanese kimono. That was all he could catch, however, as he took the few steps to the chair directly infront of the man.

He turned around and sat, the chair creaking beneath his weight, which was admittedly more than most if not all of the people surrounding both him and the black haired man. He heard him shifting through his supplies, and before Mitt got the chance to talk, he was already asking questions.

"So, how much off the top do you think you want?" he began, and Mitt swore he could hear the silent test-snip of a pair of scissors behind him.

"Before I um, answer that, I'd like to know how much this is going to cost?" he responded, hesitation in his voice. This, somehow, caused the crowd to erupt into laughter. Even Koujaku himself gave a few quiet chuckles.

"Its free, ya dipshit!" called a slightly slurred voice from the back of the crowd.

I guess that's one way this island was actually _similar _to America, his train of thought from the previous days continued. Was it a world-wide phenomenon to drink before five o'clock?

Koujaku tutted, pointing at the somewhat tipsy girl. "Now, be nice. We've made it clear this is his first time using my services."

Mitt cleared his throat, craning his neck to glance up at the man, hoping the blush of embarrasment on his cheeks wasn't noticable in the blaring sun. "In that case, as much as you deem necessary. You _are _the... professional?" he half-stated, half inquried. This time, Koujaku himself gave a hearty laugh.

"I wouldn't quite call myself a professional," he began to say as his hands - and pair of scissors in tow - began to fy around his head in a steady, almost beautiful pattern. He didn't focus on anything else the man said as he got his hair cut, though. All he could think about was one thing, and that thing was something that struck fear into his core.

Romney was attracted to the hair dresser. It was love at first sight.

But it was so wrong. So wrong... yet he didn't turn away.

He let his worries subside to a somewhat peaceful silence, however, and drowned his recurring worries with the sounds of hair being cut.

He'd deal with those worries later.


	2. Chapter 2

His hair had been cut- very nicely, by the way- and the day had gone on relatively normally.

Except it hadn't.

He still had the voice of the hairdresser echoing in the back of his mind as he ate his meals, as he just absently sat around, and, regretably, even as he showered. He felt horrible admitting his own reaction to the man's voice reverberating through his mind as he stood in the nude. It felt so wrong, and yet it felt so right.

And he felt so dirty even thinking that to himself.

At this point, it wasn't even the fact that he had these urges to act upon his love for another man, or that the man was a third his age, no. It was the fact he was having these urges while he had a beautiful wife and somewhat decent children back home in America. If he acted on his love for Koujaku, it'd be breaking his two big no's! His rules against cheating, and his rules against gayness.

But hey, it's not like anyone he knew would be around to see it... would they?

/No mitt/, he thought, /Don't give in to these thoughts. Satan is coming at you and he's coming at you hard. You're a good man, Mitt. Don't do this to yourself./

As these thoughts continued, he decided to slip under his covers and shut the lights out. He figured a good night's rest would cleanse his mind. He'd wake up a new man, who simply went to get a new haircut.

And with that, he shut his eyes, and began to sleep peacefully.

The thoughts haden't left, and neither had the urges. And yes, he had to take another shower with them both tacked onto the front of his train of thought. That shower was another rather awkward one.

He figured he'd go out for a walk today. And hey, who knows, maybe it's possible he'd run into the man again. Maybe.

Possibly.

It's not as if he had taken the route toward where he was yesterday or anything.

But to the politician's dismay, the man wasn't there. He didn't recognise a soul on the street, save for the man with the marshmallow jacket and unnatural hair color. Odd, the man seemed to actually be working right outside the pawn shop this young man helped run.

He figured hey, maybe these two knew eachother, or at least the bluenette had known enough /of/ the man to know where he would be. He /did/ cut hair right outside of his pawn shop yesterday.

And he was conveniently outside. So, why not?

With a confident gait, Mitt made his way over to the bluenette, a friendly grin on his face. "Ah, would you happen to know anything about the hair dresser who happened to be working outside of your shop yesterday?" 

The man looked up from what he was doing, which was sweeping the sidewalk, a displeased expression on his face. This threw the man back, and he was about to retract his question, but the bluenette began to speak. "Oh, Koujaku? Yeah. I know about him. A lot about him. He's my /ex/."

Oh. So he /did/ swing that way. Mitt felt an odd sense of relief wash over him. The man conitnued.

"I don't know what you're asking about him for, but I'll assume you need to use his services. He works around here on weekends, and on the weekdays he generally just wanders around. I'm sure you'll find him eventually."

Mitt stared at the man. "...Do you happen to have a name?" 

"Aoba. Not that it's gonna benefit you. I don't really feel like talking about Koujaku much more right now, and I'm working my shift, so unless you have any item-related questions, I kindly ask you to be on your way."

Well. That was one of the more friendlier ways of saying "I don't want to talk to you" Mitt had ever heard.

So... the man did say he wanders around on week days... and it /was/ a monday. There was no point in wandering, really, he figured.

/I guess I'll go get some breakfast and see if I can find him after that.../ he thought as he went on his merry way down the street, per the man - now known as Aoba's - request.


	3. Chapter 3

After a short walk around the bend of the block, Mitt had found, to his surprise, a quaint, little Denny's, and had situated himself in a booth near the window facing the street. He was munching on his crispy bacon, eggs sunny-side-up, and tea when he saw a crowd of people walking down the otherwise silent street.

And his heart sped up.

There the man was. The hair dresser the ex-presidential candidate had fallen for so much in such a short window of time. He was _right there. _The only things between he and Koujaku were the Denny's window and the decently sized crowd.

And to both his pleasure and his dismay, Koujaku came toward the Denny's.

_Followed by the massive orb of pedestrians._

He knew that the Denny's would be flooded, and he'd probably end up having to share a table with someone. The restaurant was small, with about ten tables that could seat four people a piece, three tables against the windows that could sit two a piece, and six bar stools against the counter, the dennys could comfortably sit fifty-one people besides himself. Just from a quick glance, he could tell the crowd would fill the place to the brim. Of course, five of the ten four-seater tables were booths, so more than four people could fit at them.

But that still meant he'd get company - wanted or not - at his two-seater table, more than likely.

He had about a one-in-sixty chance to get seated with Koujaku, so he silently sat, hoping odds played in his favor.

When he heard the bell on the door of the restaurant ding, and he heard mixed conversations flood the small diner's entire interior, his heart sped up.

_No Mitt. If a lovely young lady sits across from you, it'd be are a Mormon. You cannot love this man. He is one third your age and the same gender. This is immoral. If you act on this, you're going to go to hell._

For once, Mitt willingly tuned out his conscience. Immoral or not, he needed to pursue this. What was a vacation without a little adventure, right?

Slowly the restaurant filled. Women at many booths, men - presumably following Koujaku for the same reason as Mitt - at bar stools...

And no one in the empty seat infront of him.

Until...

He shut his eyes. The chair infront of him made a slight creaking noise, and he opened his eyes to see none other than...

The slightly tipsy woman from the day before. He sighed internally, hoping the disappointment wasn't evident on his face. His conscience had won out, sadly, and for once, it wasn't to his benefit. Regardless, it'd be rude to not speak to the woman, he figured. Before the politician could get a single word out, however, she picked up the man's fork and pointed it at him, bits of egg dropping onto the space on the table between Mitt and the plate.

"What were you doing with our Koujaku yesterday, Mister?" she inquired in a rather hostile tone, much, _much _different than her slurred comment among the crowd from the previous day. When Mitt didn't reply immediately, however, the woman gave a slight huff and eased the fork closer. "Are you gonna answer the damn question or not?"

Taken aback by her foul language and signs of impending violent acts with silverwear, he put his hands up in a sort of surrender. "I was only getting a haircut, honest!" he blurted out. She dropped the fork, crossing her arms against her chest and leaning back agains the back of the chair, her brown curls falling into her similarly light-browned face.

"A likely story, _American_. You people come here for two reaons. To nerd out on us because you happened to catch an episode of Pokemon on the trip here and expect us all to be like that, or to get an Asian date of your very own. Never, not once, have I heard of anyone - let alone a _man_ - come to any part of Asia and expect any of us to believe that he blushed and smiled during a haircut _just because _he was getting a haircut. Now spill. What. Do you want. With Koujaku."

"Honest to God, I was only getting a-" Mitt began to reply once again, but he was taken aback when a waitress, who happened to be passing by, dropped her clipboard full of orders and stared at him.

"I was _wondering _why you seemed so familiar," she began, her voice high-pitch and unpleasing to the ears. "You're Mitt Romney, arent you? That American politician?"

Mitt gave a smug grin, glancing at the woman. "Well, yes. I'm surprised you're actually asking, I thought my face was more known. I guess not, since this is Japan, though."

The woman across from Mitt groaned. "Oh get _over _yourself. You _LOST _the election. You shouldn't be sitting here bragging right now. The only reason any of us recognise you is because of the laws and memes."

"Laws...?" Mitt deadpanned, glancing back across from him. He went to look at the waitress for an explanation, but as he did, he felt all color drain from his face.

"Hello? I think we're going to need some assistance down at the Denny's near Junk Shop Heibon. We have the foreign politicain Mitt Romney on the premisise."


	4. Chapter 4

Minutes had passed, and Mitt had been forced to stay in his seat and remain silent by many of Koujaku's followers. He didn't understand what was going on. Why did he have a mob of angry people holding him against the window of a Dennys, and why did he have a woman calling for some "assistance"? Why did his being a foreign politican play into anything?

This island was becoming less and less of a "resorte-esque" place by the minute.

His mind continued to replay those few questions and thoughts over and over, until they were cut short by the sound of glass shattering to his left and right. And all he could think in that moment was a word he never thought as a Mormon republican he'd think. (Then again, this entire trip was proving he wasn't exactly a great Mormon _or_ Republican)

_Fuck._

Immediately, the crowd around him parted like the Red Sea - similar to the day before, only this time it wasn't he himself walking through the now cleared aisle.

No, it was several men in bulletproof vests and black, reflective sunglasses, some carrying guns and others carrying blunt force weapons.

Before Mitt could ask what in God's name was going on, however, he was gripped up by his arms and quite literally thrown through the window behind him.

And after that, everything went black.

He didn't know how much time had passed between then and when he'd woken up. All he knew is, when he woke up, he was in a damp, dark cell. The kind they steriotype prisons as being in TV shows, only worse. Much worse. He was in pain, the pain a type of stinging, all over his body.

And he couldn't move.

No, he was restrained. Cuffs held his legs to the ground and his wrists to the wall. The entire situation with his position was uncomfortable and seemed rather, erm, _sexual_. In a twisted way, of course.

And, again, before his train of thought could advance too much, a door opened. 

"So you're awake, are you?" a deep voice almost growled from the shadow that engulfed the doorway. Too terrified to talk, Mitt just stared ahead. The being took notice. "Aren't you going to respond to me?"

Mitt gave in.

"Do I look like I could _possibly _be asleep?" he responded, his voice not at all strong. In fact, it waivered much more than it did in any other situation. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or the fear.

It was probably both.

"Don't get smart with me. You're under my control now, and your fate is held against my mercy. Say the wrong thing the wrong way, and I could have one of my guards blow your head off before you can even fathom the pain. Do you understand?"

With that, Mitt just stared ahead, processing his circumstances before glancing up toward the shadows. "Y-Yes, Sir!"

"Alright, good. Now that we have an agreement..." the man advanced slowly inton the cell, his face still cast in shadow, his neck luminated by the small light coming from a window close to the ceiling. He took one more step, and his face shown clearly in the light.

"My name is Toue. And my, my, do we have some negotiating to do."


	5. Chapter 5

He woke up groggily, having slept on merely the cold, damp floor of the cell for the third night in a row. Or was it the fourth? He didn't know. All he knew is his sleeping conditions were the least of his worries in his current situation. Sure, it was uncomfortable as all hell, but the circumstance surrounding his initial arrest was far more drastic.

He didn't know the full story, only catching bits and pieces of the guards' chattering outside his cell or as they escorted him from interrogation to interrogation, but apparently the man who he saw upon his initial arrest - Toue, was it? - was the head of some sort of worldwide project where he brainwashed foreign politicians who came to the island - with or without proper permission, which you apparently needed to legally come here (not that the border police told him this) - to spread his propoganda. And, of course, Mitt tried to get himself out of it by defending that he wasn't actually the president of the United States, but Toue knew this already, and continued regardless of this knowledge. Once a politician, always a politician, he guessed.

He vaguely rememebered Toue saying something about how he - Mitt - was still influental in the States (Was he? He himself didn't know) and how he could at least bend the Republican party to his ways. "Republicans," he remembered him saying, "They'll listen to anything their representatives and political standees say, so long as you mention Jesus and diss the gays."

The propoganda Toue was trying to sell, however, was classified, only fed to him in unspecific strings of information. Subliminal messaging, one could almost describe it as. He felt a tinge of worry as the idea of world domination seemed prominent in what he understood of the plan, though he wasn't sure he was consciously catching it right.

He felt as if no one in this facility, besides Toue himself, was sure of what they were saying and teaching, though. Everyone who interrogated and force-fed him Toue's regimine for foreign politicians seemed to be completely on script, and not one easily memorized or quoted. Everyone was so monotone, so much more so than he was used to prison guards being. Were they trying to remember their lines? Was the regimine that hard to explain? Had they never done this to another politician?

It could always be an act, a very clever one set up by Toue to discourage prisoners from asking questions, but who could say for sure. Well, Toue could, but it's not like he would.

All he knew is, as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his oddly uncuffed hands, the window in the door of the cell slid open, and one of those monotone voices spoke.

"Today is a visitation day," the voice spoke blandly. "And you have a visitor, surprisingly. You will have five minutes with him. A vert monitored five minues."

Mitt blinked. A visitor? He didn't know anyone on this island, per se. Only that drunk woman whos name he never got and...

His heart skipped a beat.

No, no it couldn't be him. Why would he take time out of his day to visit some man whos hair he cut once? It was a weekday, wasn't it? Wouldn't he be working about now? Well, it was the crack of dawn, so probably not. But. He'd be getting ready to do his daily weekday round of cutting peoples hair outside of... whatever the bluenettes name was's shop.

The guard demanded him to stand in a much more aggressive voice than he was used to, briefly interrupting his thoughts long enough to get him to stand.

He found his train of thought again once he stood. He shouldn't get his hopes up, he figured as he walked to the door. As of on cue with his steps, the door slid open, and Mitt held his wrists out, hands limp and palms facing down. The cuffs wrapped around his wrists, and a lead was hooked to the center to keep him an appropriate distance from the guard.

He'd learned the hard way what would happen if the lead went too limp, obviously meaning you were too close to the guard. He still had welts and bruises that were healing from that first day...

As they began to walk down the hall - one he didn't recognize - he decided to block out all thoughts of Koujaku being in the room he was being lead to. It was unlikely. It was impossible. Koujaku didn't even know his name, did he? It didn't matter.

He had to quiet his thoughts. He had to stay silent.

He had to focus on putting one foot infront of the other, and only that, as they neared the elevator and, soon, the visitation room.

He was ushered into the visitation room rather roughly by the guard and made to sit down at a cheap, white table. The chair was far from comfortable, but was definately better than the cell. And no one sat across from him yet. Was this just a trick to get him into another session? He wasn't supposed to have any today, at least not until much later in the morning or, at latest, noon.

The guard left for a moment, the door shutting almost immediately. He glanced to his left, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on, but only finding that the windows were blacked out from the inside, presumably because there would be guards watching and listening to him and his visitor from the other side. The walls were obviously soundproofed as well. He heard nothing, and they could probably hear nothing of whats going on in the room unless they'd taken the procaution to install hidden microphones all over it. He knew this, because he was warned that every room had audio survalience, if not both audio and video, upon his first meeting with Toue.

While his thoughts began to trail off, and his gaze turned to the blank wall across from him, the door opened again, and this time, his visitor was shoved in. He took a deep breath, refusing to look at the visitor until he came in his line of sight. As if it'd help anything, he began to almost will it to be Koujaku.

He could feel how angry God was with him.

As his mental chant of _please be Koujaku _continued, the man finally came into eyeshot.

To his complete and utter dismay, it wasn't Koujaku. Yet again, he'd been wrong. God was really having his way, wasn't he?

No, his visitor was the bluenette from the day he got arrested. The bluenette who was Koujaku's ex.

"So. You're _the _Mitt Romney, are you?" the blue man chuckled. Mitt gave a silent nod, and, in turn, the blue man let out a loud laugh. "I can't believe this. You should have read up on this place before you came here. How could you have been so stupid, coming to this island of all places in the world?"

"I... I didn't know this island was like this," the grey haired man mumbled, having since turned his gaze to the plain white table infront of him, refusing to make eye contact with the man. "I'd read online that it was lovely."

"Thats because everyone who comes here is mandated to write positively about the place!" he snapped. "Do you think anyone - tourist or resident - would be allowed to give this place bad ratings and get away with it? Toue can track them down and have them eliminated without a trace within hours. Days, if you're lucky."

Mitt blinked. Toue was more sinister than he thought.

The bluenette continued.

"I know, I know you went to the Denny's to look for Koujaku, and I know I should have warned you that a lot of the people on the island are on the look out for you. I just didn't believe it was you, when we met on the corner," he mumbled. "You were asking about Koujaku, and somthing in me snapped and didn't let me warn you. It's partially my fault you're in here."

"Are you that jealous?" Mitt asked softly without thinking. He could almost feel the man's expression change.

"He up and left me for some guy with dreadlocks! Of course I'm angry. I mean, it didn't work out between them, so he's been single for a while. I haven't even tried to get back with him, because its so goddamn painful to see him or hear about him or even think about him-"

Mitt felt a twinge of guilt grow in the pit of his stomach.

The man still continued.

"But. But that's why I'm here. I wronged you, and I need to make up for it. The next visitation day is in nine days. If you can stick it out until then, he'll be coming. You need to be ready, okay?"

There was a moment of silence. A very, very long one. But Mitt finally responded.

"Okay."

After another silent moment, he finally asked something he'd been meaning to since the visit began.

"...May I get your name again?"

"Aoba. Aoba Ser-" the blue man began, but at that very moment the door opened, and the same guard from before came in.

"Seragaki. Your five minutes are over. I'll be escorting you back to the front desk."

The blue man - known as Aoba gain - nodded and rose to his feet, glancing at Mitt sympathetically before following the guard. They left the room, and the door slammed shut again, leaving Mitt alone to his thoughts.

_Nine days... _he mused. _I can do it. I can wait the nine days. _


End file.
